


O Father, Pray for the Children

by HartwinMakethMan



Series: Hymns to St. Jude [2]
Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Inspector Sullivan is a softie™️, Minor Angst, PREGANANANT?, Pegnate?, Pergert?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:16:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartwinMakethMan/pseuds/HartwinMakethMan
Summary: Things are settling— Sullivan’s adjusted into something softer. He’s loved, he’s happy. Eve is good, and they’re good for each other.So, naturally, something had to go wrong— a familiar face steps into Kembleford, dragging up the past. With the help of their friends at the presbytery, can Martin and Eve successfully put London behind them and look to the future?





	1. Chapter 1

It really wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. Really. It was just a bug, something she had picked up at the Westin house the week prior. Both of Samatha Westin’s kiddies were down with a stomach flu, that must be it.

 

She told Martin— and herself— that for the first week. Martin found out she was sick before _Eve_  knew she was sick. It was his job after all, to find what people hid, he could surely figure out the health of his own wife.

 

Eve was doubled over over the toilet bowl that morning. Martin had always been an early riser and she couldn’t exactly vomit quietly. It didn’t surprise her when the door creaked open and a familiar hand settled on her back.

 

He stroked her hair back and got her a cup of water when she was finished.

 

“G’ Morning, Darling...” she finally rasped. Martin was already dressed in his suit for work. He took her hand and stroked his thumb over her knuckles, sitting next to her on the tile floor.

 

He huffed and rolled his eyes, squeezing her hand.

 

“I take it you’re not feeling much better, then?” He responded with a rueful smile that tugged at her heart.

 

“Last night it was fine, I felt fine!”

 

“Promise me you’ll go to the Doctor today, Eve.”

 

She looked at her husband, then. Her Martin. The worry was etched into his handsome face, and she couldn’t say no again.

 

“I’ll go this morning— the surgery’s open until 2, I think.”

 

Martin sighed and kissed the hand in his, tension draining from his shoulders. He helped her to stand and brought her some tea and toast before announcing that he had to head off to the station.

 

“Call me if you need me.” He said on his way out the door, a pleading note in his voice.

 

Eve had refused to go to the doctor for a full week. At first, she really had been convinced that it was just a minor flu— but, if she was being honest with herself, she had been feeling strange for longer than that. Quite a bit longer than that— nearly a month. 

 

Martin was quick as a whip, Eve knew he must have picked up on something. He kept asking her what was wrong, and she hadn’t the faintest idea of what to say.

 

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The summer sunlight had the sweetest habit of streaming in through the windows of the presbytery kitchen, and Father Brown always included it as one of his greatest seasonal blessings. The kettle was on, and Mrs. M popped in from the garden just at the end of his first cup of tea. She held a large wicker basket, filled to the brim with the lilacs that were bursting into bloom outside.

 

“Morning, Mrs. McCarthy!” He grinned, but his faithful secretary only managed a twisted half a smile. “What ever is the matter?”

 

“The Inspector rang this morning— apparently that little wife of his is under the weather. He asked if we might call on her this afternoon...” she sighed, setting the basket on the table.

 

“And you seem particularly concerned?” The Father asked, furrowing his brow. Mrs. McCarthy’s relationship with Eve Sullivan was tumultuous at best— what with Eve being such a _bad_ _catholic_ , and Mrs. McCarthy being so vocal about that opinion— it seemed a bit out of sorts for her to be so tied up about the young woman’s health. Unless it was something more serious...

 

“It was _Martin_ who seemed concerned. That stubborn fool is unlikely to ask for help in the most dire of situations, and yet he called _you_ of all people, for something so simple.” Fluttering around the tea kettle, Mrs. M puttered with her own cup “I thought she might like some flowers and a scone or two. _Lord_ _knows_  they’re both far too skinny.”

 

Father Brown nodded his understanding, the gears turning in his mind as he sipped his second cuppa.

 

By the time they were headed out the sun was high in the sky, not a cloud over Kembleford. The Father had included both Eve and Martin in his prayers that day, and the walk to the tidy little cottage seemed longer than usual.

 

It felt as if something was brewing in the air— as if God was guiding his steps.

 

He knocked on the door, and was confused then, at the appearance of the woman behind it.

 

“Father Brown, Mrs. M! What a nice surprise.”

 

Eve smiled with a real effort, but it wasn’t hard to deduce that the young woman was in strife. Her eyes were ever so slightly red rimmed and glassy, she looked pale.

 

“We were just in the neighborhood— thought you might like some flowers and company!” Father Brown cut in before Mrs. McCarthy could address the state of her.

 

It was easier to get information if you could get in the door— clearly Eve hadn’t been made aware that they’d be coming. They had caught her mid-cry, and Father Brown was starting to feel the height of that worry that plagued Sullivan and Mrs. McCarthy.

 

“Yes—“ Mrs. McCarthy caught on quickly, bless her soul “the lilac bushes in the garden are overwhelmed with blooms!”

 

“Thats sweet— come in, I just put the kettle on.”

 

They ended up seated in the sitting room, tea and scones and lilacs all across the table between them. Father Brown studied Eve carefully: her hair was pulled back in a ribbon, her eyes were just the slightest bit unfocused, dazed. And her clothes were hardly her usual style. Eve Sullivan was already well known in Kembleford for her flawless style, and Father Brown didn’t think he’d ever seen her in a skirt so old it had /frayed/. And the shirt, it definitely wasn’t even hers! Between the soft blue color, the side of the buttons, and the way it draped on Eve’s slim frame, it was easy to say it was Martin’s.

 

She certainly looked strange and out of sorts. By all accounts, however, not the coughing, sick woman he had expected— but still something was wrong.

 

“I have a sneaking suspicion that Martin sent you.” She smirked knowingly, looking back and forth at their guilty faces.

 

“He rang the presbytery this morning, hoping we could pop in on you, Dear.” Mrs. McCarthy came clean “Eat a scone, you look just _terrible_.”

 

Eve chuckled and shook her head— the usual response to Mrs. M’s candor “The temptation is great, but my stomach has had me in fits and starts this week. I only just came from the surgery.”

 

“Yes, you seem a bit weak— what’s the prognosis?” Father Brown asked, biting his own scone and studying Mrs. Sullivan for any signs of what was _different_  about her.

 

She only shrugged, sipping her tea “I wish I knew...” _There_ it was: a _lie_  “Dr. Crawford’s running a few tests, hopefully we’ll be informed in a few days time..”

 

He nodded, absorbing the information both said and unsaid.

 

“It’s alright with me, though, being here instead of at a fitting for one of my projects.” Eve smiled, and it was genuine for the first time that afternoon. The young newcomer to Kembleford was in high demand with the ladies of the village for custom gowns and other seamstress work. “It gives me time to work on Lady Felicia’s Midsummer gown— It’s shaping up nicely.”

 

Their chatter was light and the afternoon wore on. Lady Felicia’s dress was sure to knock her socks off, but Eve Sullivan was looking just a touch frail.

 

Not to mention: why had she lied?

 

He thought he might hazard a guess by the time they were on their way out the door, when Eve stopped him.

 

Martin was coming up the path. He smiled and tipped his hat playfully at his wife in the open threshold. Eve smiled back, but there was something _wrong_  again. Her lip wobbled and her eyes were a little misty when she looked at him. It was a look Father Brown had seen on too many people to mistake:

 

Guilt.

 

“Miss Eve, if I may—“ he started, only for the young woman to shift her gaze back to him, tears blinked away like magic.

 

“Confession tomorrow? 9 o clock?”

 

He nodded, trying his best to reassure in the seconds they had before Martin strolled up to the door.

 

“Hello Father, Mrs. McCarthy.” He gave them a grateful little smile before turning a discerning eye to his wife “How’re you feeling, Darling?”

 

Even after the first three months since their wedding had come and gone, the changes in the Inspector never ceased to catch the Father off guard. He had settled in rather well, and the more patient, _happier_ , kinder Martin Sullivan was always a welcome sight.

 

He cupped Eve’s pale cheek and looked her up and down as if studying her for evidence of her wellbeing— the Father watched her reaction closely, almost expecting her to push him away given the tears he had just witnessed. It was quite the opposite, though. Eve leaned into the warm touch, using a delicate hand to fix her husband’s lapel.

 

Martin raised an eyebrow, thinking the same thing the Father was: she wasn’t making eye contact.

 

“Better than before, Love— Dr. Crawford’s running a few tests.” She said, voice soft, and it was only serving to make Martin worry more, if the furrow between his brows was any indication.

 

He nodded before managing to tear his eyes away from Eve and look at Father Brown and Mrs. McCarthy.

 

“Thank you for stopping by.”

 

“It was no trouble— always happy to watch out for my flock.” Father Brown smiled, trying to look innocent of his snooping. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Miss Eve.”

 

They left their two friends there on the stoop of their home, Eve leaning forward and resting against Martin’s chest like she was just too exhausted to stand. Father Brown was thoroughly vexed by the whole thing, his mind racing through symptoms and causes, all leading back to one possibility.

 

All there was to do now was wait. There was sure to be an explanation in the confession booth, and the Father could do nothing but pray that it wasn’t something more serious.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He sat behind his desk on that Friday morning, not quite paying attention to the paperwork in front of him. Martin studied the photograph of his Evie, watching him with a mischievous smirk from the right corner near the telephone.

 

It made his stomach flip, conjecture swimming through his head of what could be wrong with his wife. Last night, she wouldn’t let him near her, and this morning she had very nearly plastered herself to his side. She could cry in the middle of the day for no discernible reason. At least the sickness had passed— that had been worrying.

 

There were plenty of hypotheses floating around in his head when the door to his office opened, and Goodfellow popped his head in.

 

“There’s a man here for you, Sir.”

 

“I’m busy, Sergeant.” He ground out, trying to sound more commanding then he felt. Eve’s big eyes sparkled at him from her frame, and his heart clenched with concern.

 

There was one thing that he knew it _could_  be. It _could_  be— but the thought was a lot to handle. It made his brain go fuzzy with stress and his pulse race, he—

 

“Inspector?” Goodfellow broke into his thoughts again.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“The man, he’s not leaving.” Goodfellow replied, fidgeting a little with discomfort “He said he’ll stay until you can see him.”

 

“Oh, for _God's_ sake— let him in, then.” He growled, a migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes.

 

Sullivan could very nearly _feel_ his own blood pressure spike, though, when this terrible man strode into his office. He never imagined that he’d have to see him again— perhaps it had been naïve to assume that a transfer to Kembleford would be all he needed to leave behind the past.

 

The last time they had met it ended in a shouting match and a stinging slap across the face. He distinctly remembered the words _embarrassing_  and _weak_. There had been mention of asylums that still made his blood run cold.

 

And there he was, standing in front of his desk like a looming specter, simpering, humorless smile on his face. 

 

When he was a child, a look like that meant a punishment from Hell. His back still ached at the memories of the belt.

 

Words escaped him, leaving him helpless and pathetic in a way he had felt only too many times.

 

“Martin.” The man uttered that one word, and he had to steel his spine against a flinch “You covered your tracks.”

 

He clenched his jaw and then forced it to open, sputtering around the word “ _Father_?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

St. Mary’s was still chilly from the night air that morning, even as the summer sun rose through the stained glass windows, warming the plants outside. The stone walls kept it cool, and the confession booth was even cooler when Father Brown stepped inside. 9 AM, on the button.

 

The silhouette of Eve Sullivan was already by his side through the screen.

 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one month since my last confession.” She started, her voice dripping with emotion, sounding almost _scared_. “I-I have lied to my husband...”

 

The priest frowned, scenarios of his past cases coloring his worry for the young woman. All of the things that wives had told him in confession, he could only pray that she and Martin hadn’t made any real mistakes.

 

“What about, my dear?” He breathed, having faith in his newest parishioner.

 

“I’ve not been well, Father. Physically ill for about a week, but... I’ve been feeling strange a bit longer than that. Never said anything to Martin about it, though. He asked and I lied— I told him it was just a bug, but I knew it had to be.... He _worries_  like no other, Father.” He could nearly hear her eyes roll, despite her choked voice “He’s so good to me.. he’s a _good_  man, and I told him I was just sick, but...”

 

“How long have you been feeling _strange_?” Father Brown prompted.

 

“Nearly a month, and it started when I was...late.” She spat out the word like it pained her.

 

Father Brown had no idea what she was talking about right there. “You were... You were late?” He asked.

 

“Yes, I was _late_ , I...” Eve trailed off, exhaling a long sigh. St. Mary’s was silent outside their little booth and Father Brown waited patiently for his parishioner to speak “I’m p-pregnant.” 

 

It was as if the Lord himself took the roof off the church to let the sun shine in on them. Everything clicked, it all made sense, and Father Brown felt the weight of his concern lift from his shoulders. What a blessing! A gift from God Himself.

 

He held his tongue, though, not sharing his congratulations. Eve was crying quietly on the other side of the screen, and the priest took a deep breath.

 

“How about you and I take a walk around the churchyard, Miss Eve? Get some fresh air while we chat.” He was already standing, and opened the booth door for her.

 

She looked quite like she had the day before— her hair was tied away from her pale face, her eyes were glassy with tears. Her clothing choices made her look a bit more like her usual self, at least.

 

He took her hand and placed her arm through his. They strolled slowly out into the warm morning air.

 

Her walk lacked its usual bounce of confidence, and the Father tried to follow her logic, but he didn’t understand. The timing for this little blessing seemed perfect. What was the problem?

 

“Why are you upset, Eve?” He started after a moment of quiet companionship “You and Martin are married, financially stable, and happy together. This baby is a gift from our Lord.”

 

She let another tear slip, making her mascara run as she shook her head against his words.

 

“It’s not... I’m not upset, I’m... I’m _scared_ , Father!” she cried, and they came to a halt in the presbytery garden, like Eve Sullivan couldn’t walk a single step further “I never really thought about having children. I was never that type of girl, I didn’t... I didn’t want that responsibility. And Martin— oh _Martin_ , he’s so ordered, everything has a place, and a _baby_?” She scoffed between her rambling phrases, getting a bit more frenzied with every word “A baby is the ultimate loss of control, he’d hate it.” 

 

Father Brown sat with Eve on the stone bench in the garden and looked out on the fields. He didn’t answer right away, deciphering the poor woman’s words like another one of his mysteries. 

 

“Eve?” He finally prompted, squeezing her hand “Have you _asked_  Martin how he feels about children?”

 

She paused in her tears, furrowing her brow as she thought about it “I suppose not... he didn’t seem opposed to it _before_ , but since The War, we haven’t... Children just make him so uncomfortable, and he had such a dreadful childhood...”

 

He nodded knowingly, a small smile perching on his lips as he looked at the mascara-covered face of pretty Eve Sullivan. “Your penance, my dear, is to actually _communicate_ your news and your fears to your husband. You’ll make it through this together.”

 

She nodded, fidgeting with the cross around her neck. Eve let him guide her wordlessly into the presbytery kitchen and sit her down at the table with a wet cloth for her face.

 

“You really think he’ll be happy, Father?” She asked, a hopeful twitch of a smile on her wobbling lips.

 

The priest finished putting the kettle on before he turned and fixed his gaze on the young woman.

 

“I think that you both knew exactly what you were promising when you said _for_ _better_ _or_ _for_ _worse_. And this is the former, not the latter.” He grinned, pouring them each a cup of hot tea “Oh— Eve?”

 

“Yes, Father Brown?”

 

“Congratulations.” He winked, and she seemed to grow into herself as he said it, excitement lighting up her features.

 

Her smile bloomed and she started to wipe the mascara and tears from her face “Thank you, Father.”

 

“Congratulations for what? Should I be planning a soirée?”

 

They both jumped at the new voice. Mrs. McCarthy and Lady Felicia stepped through the threshold from the hall, only to stop in their tracks at the sight of Eve Sullivan and her red-rimmed eyes.

 

“Evie, what ever is the matter?” Felicia gasped, sweeping around the table to sit at her friend’s side (and they had become quite dear friends since Eve’s dramatic arrival in December).

 

“It’s really alright, Fliss, I—“

 

Everyone was cut off, however, at Mrs. McCarthy’s rather theatrical throat clearing. Father Brown looked over to see a familiar gleam in his secretary’s eye, a smile on her lips like she had just figured something out.

 

“You’re stomach’s been turning, now you’ve been crying, and I’m not a gossip, but Ona Crawford did just so happen to mention that you had some _tests_  done.” She sat down and poured herself a cup of tea, fixing Eve with a stare “What exactly was the Father congratulating you on, my dear?” She asked sweetly, clearly having her own idea of the answer.

 

“I...” Eve trailed off, caught in the headlights of two intrepid women who were becoming better sleuths than the Father himself.

 

“Eve? Is it true?” Lady Felicia took her hand, studying her face.

 

Eve looked at her when she said it, this time with a contagious grin: “I’m going to have a baby.”

 

Father Brown loved his vocation. He found such peace being Christ to his flock, being a confidant and protector. He loved the weddings— he even found peace in the funerals. He brought closure to old chapters and delivered his parishioners into new ones.

 

But, perhaps his favorite of all those chapters, was the welcoming of a child into the world— those wide eyes, that sweet innocence. Learning all the firsts of life: first words, first steps, first foods, and especially finding God’s light for the first time.

 

Ah, to be a kid again.

 

Mrs. McCarthy immediately set about making lunch, saying “You’re much too skinny— got to keep the both of you healthy, now!”

 

Lady Felicia was already planning the baby shower, talking about her prowess at floral arranging in finishing school.

 

“What wonderful news, Darling— although, with what you two get up to I can’t say I’m surprised.” She grinned with a spark of mischief, making her friend blush and wink “How _is_  dear Martin? You know, just a few months ago, I’d never have been able to picture him as a father, but you do have a way of melting frozen hearts...” Felicia continued, unaware of Eve tensing up at the mention of Martin.

 

“He must be so excited!” Mrs. McCarthy chimed in “After all that hullabaloo in December, you both deserve some domestic bliss.”

 

“Well, what did he say?” Felicia pressed “Give us all the details!”

 

“Knowing what you two get up to, spare us the sinful parts.” Mrs. McCarthy slid a plate of sandwiches in front of them and nearly forced one into Eve’s hand.

 

Father Brown just took a bite out of his own sandwich when the young woman shot him the “what do I do?” look. She knew how he advocated the truth, and she should tell it. He left her to it.

 

“I... Well, actually, he doesn’t know yet.” She finally spit out.

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

“You haven’t told your own _husband_ —“ Mrs. M short circuited “How far along are you?”

 

Eve shrugged “Not certain, but based on my symptoms, Dr. Crawford said at least 8 weeks... Maybe 12.”

 

“Well, you’d better tell him soon or you’ll have a bump before he knows!” Felicia said, eyes wide “What’s the holdup?”

 

Eve didn’t say anything at first.

 

“Martin... children make him a bit uncomfortable. I only just found out for sure, anyway.” she stumbled through the words “I’ll tell him tonight, after he gets home from the station... would you come with me, Father Brown—? Oh no, he might not tell me how he really feels if you’re there... Would you walk me home this evening? Moral support?”

 

“It would be a pleasure.”

 

They ate in silence for a moment, and Eve looked down at her lap, pressing her flat belly with her free hand.

 

“You really think it’ll be showing soon?”

 

“ _Dear_ — all I have to say on the matter is tell him double time, while your clothes still fit.” Mrs. McCarthy shot back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day wore on. Eve told Sid the happy news, much to his chagrin— “I lost a whole pound on that bet!” He cried— and they set about the presbytery and garden doing odd jobs for that Sunday’s mass.

 

Eve quickly found herself rolling her eyes at Mrs. M, who fussed and fussed over her exerting herself in her condition— “No need to worry Mrs. M! I still _exert_  myself plenty, I haven’t had a single problem.” She goaded, clearly for show. Mrs. M still blanched and fluttered about “bad Catholics”, while Sid and Lady Felicia roared with laughter.

 

Soon enough, when Martin would almost definitely be home, Eve and the Father set off toward the Sullivan cottage with well wishes and encouragement to send them on their way. Just like that morning, they found themselves arm in arm as clouds began to draw in for the evening.

 

Eve got more confident with every step. She was grinning, glowing, her color back in her cheeks.

 

Until they reached the cottage to find the door ajar. Eve stuttered to a stop in the doorway before creeping forward, but the Father stopped her. Wordlessly, he stepped in front of the pregnant woman, and led the way into the house with umbrella at the ready.

 

Martin was shouting. There was another voice that the Father didn’t recognize.

 

“Get _out_  of my house— I said you weren’t welcome here!”

 

“That’s gratitude for you! All your life, you’ve owe me, _Boy_ — career, rank, finances—“

 

“You were going to put me away like an _animal_ —“

 

Several things happened at once: Father Brown pushed open the door to the study, revealing Inspector Sullivan and a very imposing looking man with broad shoulders and a sneer. The man slapped Martin across the cheek with the back of his hand so hard that it made a cracking sound. Eve cried out and pushed Father Brown out of her way. She ran to her husband’s side. Father Brown spoke.

 

“What gives you the right to attack somebody like that?” His voice was level, but he couldn’t completely hide his rage. It bubbled under his skin at the sight of the violent red mark on Sullivan’s cheek.

 

“A Father has every right to discipline an unruly _child_ , Priest.” The man growled, fists clenching and unclenching as he sent a smoldering gaze over Evie and Sullivan.

 

A _Father_?

 

“You have _no_ _rights_  to me.” Martin spat back, trying to push his wife behind him, but she refused to go any further than his side. She took his hand and squeezed tight.

 

“Get out of our house!” Eve cried.

 

The man chuckled darkly, and Father Brown felt cold and hot simultaneously. This man was hard to find Christian love for. He took a long breath and sent up a silent prayer.

 

“You must be _the_ _wife_.” He looked her up and down viciously, and then Sullivan succeeded in shielding her from the view of this awful man, tugging her behind him. “I don’t believe we’ve ever formally met: Arthur Sulliv—“

 

“I have no bloody interest in knowing you— I’ve heard _plenty_.” Eve fired back. The man bristled.

 

He started to advance, taking a measured, menacing stride closer to Martin and Eve.

 

Father Brown cloaked himself in all his faith, and cut the man off in his tracks. He stood between his friends and their assailant and looked him in his cold dark eyes.

 

A familiar jaw, the same dark, perfectly coiffed hair, the same eyes— but Martin’s were different now, not those chips of unforgiving stone looking at him. The resemblance was still uncanny.

 

A _Father_ and his _child_. Father Brown’s heart clenched.

 

This was, without doubt, Martin’s father.

 

“Get out of my way, _Priest_ — this is none of your concern.” He growled, right in his face.

 

“My flock are always my concern—“ he said “and your son does not wish to see you. Get _out_ of this home.”

 

“Your _flock_?” He laughed, humorless and dissonant “You’re a _Catholic_ now? Jesus, when I turned a blind eye for a year, I hoped it it would bring you to your senses, but you’ve only lost what was left of your damn _mind_!”

 

The blaspheme was enough. He was about to start back in, determined to make Arthur leave, when—

 

“Father Brown, stop.” Martin said, ignoring his father. His voice trembled just the slightest bit— he was afraid of this man.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Martin.”

 

He wasn’t sure what changed, then. After the most tense moment of silent staring that the priest had ever experienced, a smirk twisted its way onto Arthur’s face. He nodded and backed away toward the door.

 

“Alright, then. I can see when I’ve outstayed my welcome—“

 

“You were never welcome in the first place.” Eve spat, sending the stony blank look back onto his face.

 

He looked right at her, then settled on Martin.

 

“I’ll be at the inn in town until Wednesday— then I will be returning to London, and you’ll be coming with me, _Son_.”

 

Every word bit into the air like an act of physical violence, and before any of them could utter a word of retort, he was striding out of the study, out of the cottage and down to the road.

 

Martin slammed the door and locked it, his back ramrod straight as he stood with his gaze on the painted wood. Just standing there, like he was too angry to speak. Like he was still unsure of what had even happened.

 

His cheek looked like it was throbbing with pain.

 

“Martin, Love...” Eve started, but she was cut off by her husband in a hoarse monotone.

 

“What’s _he_  doing here?”

 

“Arthur? How the hell am I supposed—“

 

“ _No_ —“

 

“I believe he means me, Miss Eve” Father Brown presumed. Martin dropped his forehead to the wood of the door like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore “I walked your wife home today, She...” _had_ _something_ _important_ _to_ _tell_ _you_  died on his tongue. He could read the room, he knew telling Martin right then would hardly go well. “She knew I wanted to check up with you— you haven’t confessed since your wedding—“

 

“ _Confession_? You want a bloody _confession_?” He hissed, finally whirling around to fix his gaze on him “I _hate_ my father. I wish _death_ on my own flesh and blood— is that a sin?” He hissed, his tone mocking and cold. It was the old Sullivan, as if Eve had never come to Kembleford. Defensive, prideful, angry.

 

It made the priest ache inside— what could that monster of a man have possibly done to send his son spiraling so far down?

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. When I came here I had no clue I’d walk into something so... traumatic.” He struggled to reply.

 

“I don’t need your _pity_.” Martin hissed, haze dropping to the floor.

 

There was a nasty red mark on his jaw that was sure to bruise pretty colorfully. Eve made a sad noise, and approached her husband with caution.

 

“Love—“

 

“Not now, Evie.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, glaring at the ground.

 

Eve pursed her lips stubbornly and didn’t listen. He tried to put out a hand to stop her, but that just made her clasp it with both of hers, entwining the fingers.

 

“Martin, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but let me put something on the bruise. Please?” She whispered, cupping his throat and waiting for him to relax into the touch.

 

When he finally did, it was incremental. The inspector softened just slightly, his gaze flickering over to where Father Brown stood as he did.

 

Getting the hint, Father Brown felt his exit calling to him. He took a few steps to the door, studying the couple before announcing his departure.

 

Martin looked profoundly sad, world weary, as he let his wife kiss his jaw. She took the fight out of him, just enough to take the edge off. Hatred was tiring— everyone experienced it at some point.

 

Eve had forgotten all about that morning, obviously. Who could blame her? There would be other, more opportune times to discuss her condition. They both needed a moment to catch their breath.

 

“I’ll be off, then.” Father Brown spoke up. Eve jumped back just a little, as if she’d just remembered him standing there.

 

“Father! Yes, of course.” She nodded awkwardly. Martin just rolled his eyes exhaustedly, still holding her hand.

 

“Go with God, you two. You know where to find me, should you require assistance. Even just a friendly ear, Martin.” He said it lightly, but it was pointed, too. His curiosity was piqued, his itch to help needed scratching.

 

“Of course, F—“ he cut himself off. The word _Father_  was unspoken, and he was too embarrassed to try to look at him.

 

“Goodnight Sullivans.” He replied, smiling reassuringly at Eve as he slipped out the door.


End file.
